Finding Truth in a Book
by HP-Scriptor
Summary: Aradia finds herself in a world she once thought to be fictional, the world of Harry Potter. Will she be able to handle the pressures of this fictional society including the raging war between good and evil?
1. Eavesdroppers, cooking, and migraines

_Disclaimer: I am not JK and I do not own Harry Potter. The following story was written for entertainment purposes only._

Janet Ferguson and Linda Delaney gazed out of the living room window to a house across the street that by all appearances was normal. Truly, there was nothing to watch but the rustling leaves in a great oak tree, but for them, this was the day's excitement.

"You know, I heard the girl that lives there killed her husband." Janet a rather staunch forty year old women remarked. Linda's gasped at the suggestion that a murderer lived nearby. Her mouth fell agape causing her long, thin face to appear even longer.

"Shouldn't she be in jail? I mean, you don't believe she could be dangerous, do you?" Linda questioned finding it difficult to force her lips to move after hearing such scandalous information from her friend.

"Supposedly, the police didn't even suspect her. She claimed that a madman murdered her husband in their very backyard." Janet emphatically pronounced the last few words creating an aura of mystery in the story. "Harold and I were discussing moving due to the recent events. This neighborhood is going down hill, I tell you." They continued to silently stare outside, waiting for the murderer to come out of hiding.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen had always been her favorite room. Completely saturated in the color white, it felt as though one was walking on a cloud. It gave Aradia a sense of peace that seemed so difficult to come by these days. And cooking, that gave her a sense of purpose that had been gradually drifting away ever since the incident last year.

Aradia gathered her long, light brown hair into one thick strand. With the other hand, she tied her hair back with a rubber band so not to distract her while preparing dinner, dinner for one again. Though it occurred to her before that it was pointless to go through so much bother simply for herself, she still stayed with this task every night for her own sanity.

Taking a knife from the counter, she expertly sliced the juicy, red tomato on the cutting board. The continuous sound of chopping broke the perpetual silence in the air. It was almost as nice as having someone actually in the house with her, but not quite. At least it was better then having the company of some of her neighbors in her home. She spotted two, Mrs. Ferguson and Mrs. Delaney, standing at a window across the street. Could they possibly be spying on her? It wouldn't surprise her in the slightest.

If only Ben was here right now she wouldn't have to go through this. She wouldn't have to sustain the ugly stares and biting remarks of everyone that knew about his demise. She wouldn't have to wake up night after night in a sweat after having a dream about people she had never even met. She wouldn't have to deal with the severe migraines resulting from the accident or face ogling eyes when people noticed the scar on her forehead, the scar that many joked looked like something out of Harry Potter.

Bringing the knife to a height above her head, Aradia brought it down in one swift movement that halved the onion on her cutting board. Her deep blue-green eyes glared out the window in hatred. People had nothing better to do then to delve into the mundane life of another searching for non-existent slander. The anger bubbling inside from dealing with these intrusions was beginning to cause another headache.

Aradia lifted her fingers to the aching scar on her forehead and massaged it gently. Lately, her headaches had only worsened without reason. Not even the doctors, all the doctors and specialists she had seen, understood her perpetual problem. And, apparently, they couldn't cure an illness they didn't fully understand, or at least that's what she had perceived.

After a few minutes, the pain still had not subsided, so she decided to continue chopping her vegetables. When this task was completed, she added her vegetable assortment to a skillet with chicken. Waves of heat passed over her face as she began to stir around the mixture. It was almost as hot as grilling, which was what Ben had been doing that day, long ago. She stopped herself on this thought, holding the spatula rigidly above sizzling chicken. Each time she went back to that day, the day that still seemed so unreal, her mind blanked as though it wanted to forget.

Her head throbbed even more in response forcing her to drop the spatula as the new, intense pain emerged. She grabbed onto the counter to steady herself and shut her eyes tightly. An image briefly flashed in the darkness, three men outside a shop window conversing. Three men she didn't recognize. Opening her eyes, Aradia slowly made her way to the living room to sit down. The pain shot through her forehead again as though an invisible force was repeatedly stabbing her. She stumbled forward as a dizzy, airy feeling submerged her senses and closed her eyes again. Another picture, a blue spinning cloud in the sky, the three men looking upwards. Aradia held onto the door leading to the kitchen, her knees giving away taking her to the tiled floor. Pain, unbearable pain dove through her entire body originating from her forehead and then, there was only darkness.

_A/N: This is my first attempt at a fanfic. If it does not sound exactly Harry Potterish right now, just wait it will get better. Please review! I would like to know what you think so I can improve this story. Thanks and enjoy!_


	2. Entering a Fictional World

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not JK Rowling. The following story was written for entertainment purposes only. _

"Ben," Aradia called out in the darkness surrounding her. She couldn't see but a foot in front of her but somewhere close was her husband. She could hear him scream like on the day he died. "Ben!" she called louder running to the source of the scream. He had to be somewhere close and she would save him. She would bring him back. "Ben!" Lightning struck the ground ahead of her path. It was unnatural, a shade of neon green that wasn't like anything she had ever experienced. For a split second, she could see in the daylight produced by the flash. A strange figure stood on the far side of the darkness and next to him was another person, lying on the ground limply. "Ben, I'm coming!" As the darkness swallowed the scene, she ran towards the figure on the ground. Then, the lightning struck again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aradia opened her eyes. She was staring at a white ceiling with what looked to be bubbles floating close to the center. The bubbles were providing light for the room, whatever room this was. She wasn't in her kitchen any longer. From what she could gather, she was in a bed that was definitely not her own, wearing a nightdress similar to the usual hospital garb. A hospital, that's what it was. But how she had arrived here was a mystery. No one would ever think to save the madwoman who supposedly killed her husband.

In an attempt to sit up, she pushed her body forward with the force of her arms against the bed. "Argh!" A severe jolt of pain hit her spine giving evidence as to why she was in a hospital. Her body fell to the bed in defeat of the injuries preventing her to move.

"Are you alright?" Someone else was in the room. It was a man with a British accent in a location that Aradia currently could not see.

"That's a stupid question. Would I be in the hospital if I was alright?" she answered defiantly. If anything, she was disgruntled by the sudden disorienting change in her surroundings.

Nearby, a muffled laugh could be heard. "Well, I suppose that's true. You did have quite an accident."

Aradia turned her head from side to side and examined the room that was in her eye's view. It was at least more interesting then the ceiling. This only caused her to have more questions, however. None of the average hospital apparatuses were in sight. No heart monitor, no IV, no technical equipment of any kind. The bed even lacked the easy to reach, modern call button.

The echoing sound of footsteps hitting the hard floor approached her bed. As the figure came into her line of vision, she realized it was a stranger that was most definitely not a doctor. He wore jeans and a bright green sweater that matched his vivid green eyes covered by complimenting, wire rim glasses. His hair was dark, short, and rather wild in appearance contrasting greatly with his calm demeanor. He was probably around her own age, maybe twenty-six or seven, yet his face was worn and tired like one much older then he obviously was. Stubble jutted out of his chin as though he hadn't shaved in a few days. Somehow, Aradia thought he looked familiar but she didn't know why.

"My name's Harry, by the way." The British stranger sat down in a chair adjacent to the bed.

"I'm Aradia." For a moment, there was silence between them. She stared at him with discerning eyes looking for a hint of what brought him to her hospital room. He was apparently staring back probably within his own form of analysis. Their locked eyes were broken, however, when Harry turned to his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and a feather. He then began to write with the feather, something Aradia had only seen in movies. Before she could come to a logical reason behind his feather use, Harry looked back in her direction.

"Alright, sorry I have to do this while you're in , but the ministry has been bugging me about it for the past two days. So, I have just a few questions for you." Neither understanding who the ministry was nor why they would want to ask her questions, Aradia simply nodded her head. Stranger things had happened to her, after all.

"My first question is....how did you receive the scar on your forehead?" With that, her complacent expression of dumbfoundedness turned to one of pure annoyance. "I would rather not talk about it," she retorted rather abruptly.

Harry glanced up from his paper and quickly added, "I'm sorry if I offended you. I completely understand if you don't want to answer any of these questions. But, I have to do this as it's part of my job. So, the next question. Do you remember anything before your fall from the sky?"

Her eyes bulged out in shock at this new revelation. "My...my what?"

"I guess that's a no. You see, you fell probably around, oh, fifteen meters. It was really touch and go after that. We were afraid you wouldn't make it."

Before any more questions could be asked, the door of her room swung open admitting a new person. . "Hello miss. Good to see you've regained consciousness. I'm your healer, Atticus Janson. So, how do you feel this morning?" Yet another person with a British accent, and this one wore what appeared to be robes in a very loud shade of lime green and carried a clipboard.

"I...I'm fine. Well, my back hurts, but other then that I'm OK."

"That's good to hear. Now, the pain in your back will subside over the next two days. We gave you a strong bone mending potion that will reconnect all the shattered fragments in your back as well as your left leg and arm. Your injuries were quite extensive." Atticus placed his hand in a slit near the side of his robes. He pulled out a flask of white liquid similar in form to Elmer's glue. "I want you to take another dose of the potion now."

Taking a glass from bedside table, he uncorked the flask and proceeded to pour the glue-like substance into the glass. "Here, take this and I will see you in a few hours." Aradia was wary of taking the glass from the so-called healer, especially with his use of the term potion and his choice of attire. She complied, however, reluctantly taking it and watched Atticus immediately leave the room. Instead of drinking the questionable potion, she carefully set it down on the bedside table. As her hand left the table, she heard the murmur of a voice behind her and suddenly the once motionless glass was zooming over her, an inch away from her face. She followed its path with her eyes finally watching its perfect landing into Harry's awaiting hands.

"You really should drink this. It will make you feel better." Harry commented while holding the glass out for her taking.

"How...did you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, nudging the glass into her hand.

"Move the glass from the table, over there," first gesturing to the table she continued, "to the other side of the bed....over there." It was truly amazing. She had seen magicians levitate women into the air before but that was simply illusion. This didn't look like an illusion. She accepted the glass into her hand, though she was still unsure if she was actually going to drink it.

Harry, however, wouldn't let go and now appeared to be the one in bafflement.

"Well, I knew you were American but I didn't expect you to be...a muggle."

Aradia freed the potion from his grasp and answered, "Sure, if you want to

call it that." The only time she had ever heard this term used, or rather read this term, was in a book. She was in the midst of processing all the information she had gathered in a way that made sense with the real world, when Harry asked another question. "What do you remember before you, well, woke up in the hospital."

Lifting the glass to her lips, she downed the putrid substance in one large gulp. It tasted like glue which she now thought to be a very good possibility since it was technically gluing her bones together. There was no noticeable effect after drinking the potion, but on the bright side she wasn't dead...yet. "I was cooking...in my kitchen." As an afterthought she added, "in Florida."

"Really? You must have apparated to London then," he muttered while writing swift notes on his paper.

The empty glass slipped from her hand and with a crash fell to the floor. "London? I'm in London?" Her response had no affect on Harry whatsoever. He continued to write as though flying glasses, traveling across the world, and drinking Elmer's glue was perfectly normal. But to Aradia, this was complete fantasy. She couldn't decide if it was a dream, a very elaborate joke, or if she had lost her mind. All of these theories currently seemed feasible.

"Yes, you're in London. Reparo." Harry pointed a long, pointed stick towards the broken glass which instantly repaired itself and landed with a soft thud on the bed. She was most certainly dreaming, though up to now this was the most realistic dream she had ever experienced. It must have been induced by her severe migraine in the kitchen. Yes, that had to be it. Otherwise, she wouldn't be talking to Harry...Harry Potter? A sudden epiphany was revealed to her. She was talking to Harry Potter, in a dream, but still.

"What hospital is this?" Aradia asked in an effort to confirm her assessment. The door, that had previously interrupted her inquisitiveness, creaked open again. This time, a tall, balding man with red hair and a short, pudgy woman also with red haired entered.

"Hi Harry. We came as soon as we heard," the man said while giving a friendly wave across the room. The woman, who was carrying a pile of different colored clothes, walked over to the bed and looked down on Aradia with shear, motherly concern.

Harry stood and gestured to the couple while giving the usual introductions. "Aradia, this is Arthur and Molly Weasley. They're long time friends of mine and I work with Arthur at the ministry."

"Nice to meet you dear," Molly said while setting down her arm full. "I assumed you would be needing a change of clothes so I brought you a few robes."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you too." The story of Harry Potter was flooding her mind as she listened to the Weasleys and Harry converse. They went on to talk about her situation. How Harry, George, and Fred witnessed her fall from a blue cloud-like hole in the sky around Diagon Alley, how they had taken her to St. Mungo's, and in a more whispered tone obviously not meant for her to hear, how Harry had deduced she was a muggle. As the conversation wore on, Aradia began to drift into a deep sleep. Her body felt rather numb possibly caused by the potion, or more logically caused by the ending of a good dream. Fluttering her eyes for a while in an attempt to remain awake, she finally concurred and let her mind shift back into sleep. Upon her eventual awakening, she would realize that this was not a dream, but her new reality.

_A/K: Please review! As this is my first fanfic, I need all the help I can get._


	3. Held Hostage

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not JK Rowling. The following story was written for entertainment purposes only._

Silence, normal, 'everything is right in the world again' silence. As Aradia struggled out of sleep, she assumed that she was back home, probably lying on the kitchen floor, but home nonetheless. However, as her consciousness stumbled into a new day, she realized this was not the case. The same white ceiling, bubble lights and all, was above her. Sitting up with more ease then last time, she also discovered that the stranger now known as Harry was still in the room, casually reading a book in a chair against the opposite wall. Her plausible theory that this was a dream and nothing but a dream was quickly flying out the window along with her disbelief in the powers of Elmer's glue potions. She felt better, much better.

"How long have I been asleep?" Aradia questioned Harry who up to this point hadn't noticed her wakeful presence in the room.

"Oh," he gave a startled jerk, knocking the book out of his hands and onto the floor. "Well, I'd say about twelve, thirteen hours. " He reached down to the ground for his book which Aradia could just make out as something quidditch related.

"And you're still here?" she further questioned wondering if he had actually remained in the room for the entire time.

"Yes. It seems I'm in charge of you for the time being, as though I don't have anything better to do." This caustic, sarcastic remark took Aradia rather off guard. He was obviously upset or at the least agitated.

For a moment, she was simply too stunned to truly understand the meaning of his statement. Then, it dawned on her. "Wait a minute. In _charge _of me?"

"It's the ministry's orders. After your accident, I was assigned to keep an eye on you. I assumed I would go back to my normal duties when you awoke, but now that's not the case." Apparently, she was being held prisoner by a group of fictional characters. And her guard, who just happened to be the pinnacle of fictional characters, was now being a jerk. He seemed different then she would have imagined, though that shouldn't have surprised her since there was probably a ten year gap in her knowledge of the magical world. Ten years is a long time and people change.

She certainly had changed. The twenty-five year old woman she had become was nothing like her fifteen year old self. Over the last year in particular, she had grown as a person though in many respects not in a good way. She was more mistrusting now, even of Harry as he continued to casually sit in his chair, entirely engrossed in his choice of reading material. She wasn't going to tell him about her secret knowledge of him or her world's take on _Harry Potter_. For all she knew, it might throw this world out of alignment like in the movie _Pleasantville _where a few simple changes flipped society around. Or worse, she might be watched even closer and never allowed to go home to her family. Not that she had much family left in Florida after her husband's death, but Aradia still hated the idea of being controlled and having someone _in charge_ of her.

"So, when will I get to go home?" she asked after a long period of silence that had become agitating.

"When the ministry says you can go. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to read my book." His eyes remained fixed on the book.

As the day continued, silence persisted between Aradia and Harry. Other then a few sparse remarks related to information the ministry needed such as her identity, nothing was said between the two. At this point she had no intention of speaking to her guard and was, in fact, quite peeved with being left in the dark about her own situation. Every now and then an owl would deliver a message through the window which Harry would immediately reply to and then return to his reading. Visitors that she assumed to be ministry representatives made regular appearances at the door and exchanged whispered words before leaving without even acknowledging her presence. It was strange, existing within a fictional book, living in a story she had read a long time ago. Though it once seemed like such an interesting and fascinating world, she now saw that it was very much like her own, based on politics, secrets, and probably even lies.

She was able to pick up on hints and pieces of information that sounded vaguely familiar. What had gone on during the years since Harry and his friends attended Hogwarts was still unknown to her. She didn't know if the war with Voldemort the dark lord was still raging or what had become of most of the characters like Hermione, Ron, Neville, or Dumbledore. No one told her anything. She was a muggle, after all, and there was no reason for her to be told. Aradia guessed that after they released her, if they ever did, her memory of these events would be erased. There were a few other memories she wouldn't mind having erased either, but doubted that the ministry would comply.

Through the day and into the night, Aradia stayed in bed as advised by the glorious healer that had relieved her back pain. The next day came, the day she was supposed to be completely healed, and Harry never left the hospital room for more then five minutes at a time. Her patience was beginning to dwindle as no one had mentioned her leave of the hospital. After breakfast, she decided to take action to find her way home.

"Do you have a phone that I could use?" It was a long shot that he would answer such a question, but it was better then the wearing silence.

"There's one outside the hospital, but I can't allow you to use it," he answered before taking a sip of his morning coffee and returning his gaze onto a newspaper.

"But…my family I'm sure is worried to death about my disappearance. Why are you keeping me?" Her voice was showing signs of obvious vexation. Finally, his firm hold on the newspaper lessened and he brought his face upwards, now staring at the ministry's hostage.

"To put it bluntly, because of the scar on your forehead and your interesting entrance into Diagon Alley. The sooner you tell me about it, the sooner the ministry will let you go." He reminded her of a hard-tack cop calloused from experience, never letting his defenses down, and always holding the appearance of the tough guy. He was also very proud and didn't like to deal with a task he thought to be beneath him, like supervising a bed ridden woman. It was understandable with the difficult role he had played in the safety of magical society from the early age of eleven. Aradia was sure he had seen more horrors by the age of twenty then most people would witness during their entire lives.

But knowing this about him, knowing the reason behind his behavior, still did not justify it in her mind. She hated to be pushed around and forced to recall a memory she had hidden away for a purpose. After her husband's death, the authorities questioned her again and again about the occurrences of that horrendous day. Playing with the edge of her sheets, a nervous habit she had developed over the past two days, she spoke in a monotone, emotionless voice. "I…I don't know." This was half the truth. She didn't know why she received the scar or how she arrived in England.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Harry retorted immediately, his tone dripping in cynicism.

Just one more time, one more time to dwell on the past and she could leave. "The scar….All I remember is a man…and a green light….and then," she paused for a moment in an attempt to not let her emotions burst into the air. "I was in the hospital…and was told my husband was dead. A few shrinks have told me I've blocked the rest out, and for a good reason. I don't want to remember any more then I already do. Can I go home now?"

Harry sighed, holding his chin in his right hand while staring at the floor contemplatively. "I'll see what I can do. Why don't you prepare to leave and…I'll return soon." With that, he stood from his seat and left the room.

* * *

Aradia stood before the mirror next to her bed combing her long hair that had become a large knot of tangles during her hospital stay. Nothing else about her appearance had changed. Her eyes were still the one facial feature she thought was attractive, her nose was slightly too large and pointy, and her lips too thin and rather peachy in color. She looked almost anorexic in the long, black robe Molly Weasley had previously dropped off. Not only was the robe twice the size it should be, but she was in fact much too thin for her height of five foot six inches due to her lack of interest in food, the source of life.

The door creaked open behind her. Aradia turned around stiffly, not yet accustomed to moving or standing after lying in bed for what she was told had been four days. Harry walked in looking as disheveled as ever and slowly closed the door.

"I have some bad news." His voice didn't hold the tinge of resentfulness and agitation it once had. "We tried to track down your family in Florida through the muggle authorities. Apparently, they don't exist anywhere in the census records. Neither do you, Aradia Moore."

A lump caught in the back of Aradia's throat. Her pulse seemed to slow down to an almost non-existent rate as the truth of what Harry had said sunk into her mind. She had feared that this would happen, though not consciously, ever since she realized that she wasn't dreaming.

"Where am I going to go?" she asked while staring at a far wall not wanting to look Harry in the eye.

"According to the ministry, you're to come with me, at least until this situation is blows over."

_A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think specifically what you like about it, what you would change if it was your story, and anything that you believe may be an error. Thanks!_


End file.
